Nothing But A Scapegoat
by FollowingTheSigns
Summary: He’d always washed his dirty laundry. In a losing basketball game, in an unfortunate court case, in his relationship...problems were always due to circumstances out of his control. He never let himself be known as the failure…even when he was. TxG


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**AN: **So, this is my way of saying I'm kind of sort of back. I'm gonna be reposting my stories (or my one-shots at least) as I start writing again and hopefully I'll have something new for you soon. So this is for everyone who enjoyed it before and for those who've never read it.

Review if you like (I'd like if you did.=D) Because this is all part of an effort to get my creative juices flowing again and I'd appreciate a little extra inspiration wherever I can get it.

I went through and read it to try and edit it again but then realized I'd read the wrong one, therefore there may still be some mess ups and maybe I'll fix them later. But for now this is just the exact same thing I posted before.

Thanks for reading!

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**NOTHING BUT A SCAPEGOAT**

He pushed his black _Nike_ duffel bag behind his back as it hung on his shoulder and bent down to find the lock to his apartment in the dark hallway. The bag swung forward half-hazardly and a loud thump reverberated through the hallway. 'Shit," He mumbled, jumping back. His head flew side to side as he leaned away from the door, hoping none of his neighbors had been awoken by the sudden crash. His eyes widened as a dim light shone from under a door and he hurried to fly through his own door before the neighbors could catch him.

Once inside he quietly closed the door, taking no notice to each and every light shining brightly in the apartment. Focusing on the door as his keys jingled in his hands, he let out a breath, letting his lips loosen with the air.

He set down his bag gently, easing it off his shoulder onto the floor by the door. Mistakenly, the bag jolted the umbrella stand by the wall and he expertly lifted his foot behind him to catch the stand before it clashed to the floor. He bit his lip fiercely as he maneuvered the metal stand up, hopping on one foot. He peered over his shoulder hesitantly before turning around. His eyebrows furrowed roughly as he used his teeth to pull off his gloves, finally noticing the illuminated apartment. Looking around once again for the purpose of such brightness at three in the morning, he threw his gloves onto a wooden table, on top of bills and catalogs sent for 'Mr. Troy Bolton.' He slid his designer coat down his broad shoulders, letting it slip to the floor in the middle of the hallway.

His hands heavily pushed his brown hair out of his face as he let out a relaxing breath once again. His shoulders sagged lazily as he walked further into the apartment, looking down at the mess of papers on the coffee table. His neck stretched out uncomfortably as he loosened his stiff tie, and he let his head roll as he cuffed his sleeves, hearing the faint pop of his neck.

It was then he realized the noises coming from elsewhere in the apartment. Chains rattled eerily from the back room off the kitchen; accompanying thumping noises caused him to raise his eyebrows and look into the kitchen expectantly. His body leaned, itching for a look into the room as he quickly walked to the kitchen and peered at the closed door. Mobs of thoughts raced in his mind to find the source, and his face scrunched in confusion as he approached the door, the feminine grunt from within pushing him on.

He reached out for the door and slowly opened it, hiding behind it as he snuck a look inside. Confusion etched across his face stronger and quicker this time at the source, but as his eyes traveled, a smirk quickly overthrew his confusion at the sight of his girlfriend in nothing but a sports bra and a pair of his old basketball shorts. He leaned against the doorframe, pleased. Her tan skin glistened with sweat and her dark curls were tied up messily, frizzing away from her face as she focused intently on the object before her. He watched, admiring her curves and tone, as she continued.

He indulged himself in every inch of her body, but only when he looked at her lean fingers did he notice the blood stained tape wrapped around them. Her fists tightened each time she hit the punching bag in front of her. It heavily swayed between punches, but she angrily continued. Occasionally spitting her dripping sweat at it in disgust.

"Where'd this come from?" he asked curiously, straining to carry his eyes to her pink face.

Her head snapped to look at him, her glare startling him. Her usual unnerving glare, always intense and passionate, always carrying a certain lust behind it when directed toward him, was replaced with an almost uncaring yet equally intense glare that shot him with pure loathing. This glare was lighter, lessened from the burden of hating someone you love.

She almost immediately returned her attention to the punching bag, taking out more anger, hitting twice as hard as before. Blood splattered from her knuckles onto the concrete floor, mixing into a pool of nearly dried spit. Her grunts filled the room, echoing off the bare walls to meet the thumps of her punches. She hit faster, constantly glaring blankly at the bag, and paying no mind to the aching cuts on her hands. Her furiousness numbed the pain, just in the way his simple kisses had done for years. Now those kisses were nothing more than the harsh blow she had felt when she first hit the stiff bag three hours ago.

He watched her pace increase and the athletic tape wrapped around her hands slowly become soaked with blood from her frail fingers. He watched in horror as she continued to no avail as blood dripped down the bag. "Gabi!" he yelled in disbelief.

She showed no reaction, but the pounds seemed louder than ever, blocking out any trace of his voice in the room. He stared at her in disbelief, hiding his horror as his body stood to attention. He walked into the room and hurriedly placed himself on the other side of the bag, attempting to grab the bag as it swung.

"Gabi." He tried to get her attention once more as worry swept his mind. With the bag in his hands, she continued without the constant swaying, making her punches faster than before.

Adrenaline rushed through his body and he thought of any possibility to stop her from hurting herself further. Without a thought, he used his well-known strength to push the bag to the side, out of her punches' jurisdiction.

But this didn't stop her. Gabriella stepped forward, her eyes blaring as her boyfriend revealed himself from behind the bag. Without a single hesitation, her next few punches traveled straight to his chest, leaving spotty patches of blood on his starched dress shirt.

He stumbled to back himself out of her range and ended up falling to the cold floor. He backed away crabbily as she stepped forward, rage meeting horror. She looked down at him with a heart crazed from adrenaline, a throat shocked from sudden air, and eyes stinging from a mixture of sweat and tears.

Her lips tightened as her eyes roamed his body for something she would miss. With her conclusion, she spat one last time, directly onto him. Her eyes degraded him. "You son of a bitch," she seethed, sweat dripping from her hairline to her chin before falling to the ground, nearly sizzling.

His sapphire eyes twisted and swirled, painting his soul with confusion. "Gabr-" he choked on an overwhelming emotional Heimlich.

"No." She threw her words menacingly as she ripped the stained tape off one hand. It soon followed her words as she launched it in his face. He recoiled disgustedly as the iron caught on his inhaling breath, quickly raising his hand from the chilling floor to brush it off.

She watched him. "No, Troy. You don't get to-" her words were strong but full sentences seemed to be a feat in her state. "You…" a bitter laugh fled her mouth, "You must think I'm an idiot." Her voice laced with sarcasm, intimidation, and disbelief.

A clear warning held in her voice, yet he clearly had no idea what to do with it. In the back of his mind, he could see, bright as day, what had set her off. But it seemed that the only active part of his brain was in denial.

She looked down at him once more, finally building the strength to stare emotionlessly into his eyes, the imagined pressure behind her eyes preventing his gaze from weakening her heart and mind.

"I'm going to give you a little insight,_ asshole_. I graduated valedictorian of our high school and my GPA has been higher than yours since we were born."

She was right and this scared him more than anything.

She continued, forcing him to see what a lack of judgment he had had. "I may not be working, and I may be playing the dumb ass little 'housewife' in this relationship, but I could've been a better lawyer than you _ever_ were." He had never received such furious snarling from anyone other than a few hardened criminals he'd failed to please in his cases.

Troy looked down at his hand ashamed as it pushed him up, ignoring the searing numbness from the cold floor. He couldn't look at her, and as he straightened up, his body refused to turn to her. He stared at the wall in front of him, unable to think one thing.

Her glare continued to dice him into pieces as she watched him shake; from the cold of the room or the tears held in the back of his throat, neither knew. Her eyebrows twisted, one raising as her mouth shifted as well, awaiting his retaliation, his confession, his apology, his denial. Any would have been better for her than this silence, because this silence…meant nothing; to her, it showed that he didn't even care.

She pushed his back, desperately, as if trying to wake him up as she reached for a response. His body stumbled, but he barely took notice, blocking out any evidence that this was actually happening. He chose to think of nothing, for anything and everything that could usually take his mind off things followed a direct connection to _her_, Gabriella. And, God, how he wanted to think of her, think of the good times, think of the love they shared. Yet, he knew he didn't deserve that release.

She shoved him once more, forcing him face-first into the wall. She allowed no movement, although he didn't even try to resist. She had his arm twisted painfully behind his back as she pressed her elbow into his shoulder blade. She dug into his skin, hoping to cause pain excruciating enough to mimic the stab she'd felt in her back when she'd found out.

His cheek flattened against the icy cement wall. His left eye against the wall was forced shut by the pressure she exerted on him. His heart sent tremors of misfortune through him as she spat at him menacingly.

"You have _no_ idea what you've really done. You have _no_ idea what an IMBECILE-," her controlled demeanor shed as he closed his eyes, her voice rose for attention, for accusation. With one last rough shove into the wall, making his jaw shift, she pulled away to continue. "-you are."

"Gabi…" her name was choked from his mouth as he turned to lean his back against the wall. Trails of tears lay on his cheeks, but the drops had already fallen to his shirt. "Gabi…I-"

Gabriella slapped him as he went to apologize, to profess his undying love and affection, to comfort her in her time of need. "Don't you dare," she snarled. "Don't you _dare_ start now! Don't start acting like you care now! It's over! Case solved! The jury is in and you know what they say?" She spread her arms dramatically over her head, showcasing an imaginary sign, "'Troy Bolton, asshole extraordinaire, is a complete and utter _failure_!'"

Her accusations held no backing and no hint of logical thinking; her sadistic remarks had no connection or flow. She simply took her best swing; and even as it resulted in a foul ball, it managed to come back and strike him in the head. With one word, she had confirmed his innermost fears. He was a failure.

He'd always washed his dirty laundry. He'd always worked to isolate himself from the problem so that nothing could be pinned on him. In a losing basketball game, in an unfortunate court case, in his relationship...problems were always due to circumstances out of his control. He never let himself be known as the failure…even when he was.

That was why, as she spoke, his eyes opened from their despair to look straight into hers. She calmed as she looked at the light blue of his eyes. Her deep breaths heaved her chest up and down, causing her shoulders to sag and stiffen rhythmically. Her eyes glared up from under her eyelids. Her lower lids sagged with glossy tears.

"You thought I wouldn't find out?" She shook her head as the words came out too weakly for her liking. "Jesus, Troy. Fucking Jesus!" She stepped closer, examining his frail state, her eyes softened as she let go some of her anger to allow her a rational thought. "You really_ are _a failure, Troy," she stated.

She even seemed disappointed. She'd gotten him to this point: she'd helped him, supported him all through school, she'd stayed home to take care of the apartment and provide an ideal lifestyle, and she'd never pressed the issue of marriage because he was a busy, successful man and his love was enough for her. But now, she saw, she'd given everything up…for a failure.

"I…" her tough barrier started breaking down as her emotions steadily fought their way through. "I don't even want to know why." She closed her eyes to separate her tears from her sweat. She bit her lip to stop the quivering, tasting the salty moist mixture that had gathered. She wiped the sweat from her eyebrows only to replace it with the blood from her hands.

Troy watched as she opened her eyes, finally revealing what she felt inside. Pain. Overwhelming pain.

She hadn't wanted to blame Troy. Whether it was his fault or not, she'd developed the same sort of protective reasoning towards him that he held himself. She wanted a different cause for her problems, a physical distraction, but her bloody hands couldn't match the pain that he'd inflicted inside.

And as she looked at Troy, she felt cheated. She couldn't divert her blame to the punching bag because _Troy_ was the only one at fault. She had gave up her dreams of the future to be with him because she wanted to give _him_ the stable family he had never had. She didn't save herself for marriage because _he_ was too busy for a wedding. She hadn't seen him in one week because_ he_ was out in Manhattan fucking some girl behind her back.

The lonely memories of this past week would torture her forever now that she knew the truth. She'd had nothing but her thoughts for company. That was, until she'd thought back to the case he said he'd been working on for months, the one that had been taking up so much of his time. And she realized…it didn't exist.

"I want you to leave," she proclaimed as she calmed herself down.

"Gabi…it didn't mean anything. I…I was…" But the words he said were too clichéd to hold their full meaning as he advanced towards her. However truthful and desperate, he could not give a justified cause.

"I want you out…_now_. Go back to Manhattan. Go back to Albuquerque..." Tears streamed as she spoke of their childhood home, remembering a time of ignorant bliss. She looked up to the water-stained ceiling for strength as she backed away. Her arms rose defensively, palming an imaginary wall between the two.

"No." A false strength fought within him to protect his small hope. He watched her slowly walk away, careful backwards steps as if she was scared of what else he could do to her. He wanted to prove his rehabilitated state to her.

His sharp attire sat loosely on his form, stained and slightly torn. His styled hair draped messily over his eyes. "No, Gabriella." He feigned strength in his voice, declaring his spot in the fight as she leaned weakly against a stack of boxes along the wall. "I _don't_ want her. God, Gabi, I want you. I've always wanted you." His words were pleading, but his eyes were groveling with her. Her eyes widened as she saw the intensity of his gaze. Her lower lip quivered and for a second, all she wanted was his arms around her.

But they weren't, and as she was reminded why, she rose, pushing him away hastily to gain ground. "You already chose." The gravel-like quality of her voice caused his body to retract. His neck shrunk. His weight sunk into his pelvis. "The second you started…you chose." Her bloody finger pointed at him, curled slightly in pain.

His eyes widened at her logic. He quickly strolled to her, grabbing her smooth arms in his hands, forcing her to stay with him. "Gabi, no. I need you." His head dipped slightly from his hunched shoulders so that he could look up into her eyes, giving her power over him that she didn't want anymore.

Her arms rose in between his to shove his arms away from her. Blood once more marked his shirt, this time dripping to his sleeves. Her hasty movements accompanied hasty words. "Do I look like I care what you '_need_' anymore?" She looked at him as if expecting an answer. He merely hung his head, begging the dirty floor for help. But his head snapped up as she yelled for his attention. "You fucking cheated on me, Troy!" Her voice was too crazed for her to stay still. Her arms flew helplessly, her eyes bobbed around the room.

Looking down to the floor, she was practically talking to herself as she continued. "It wasn't even a drunken one night stand…four months? Of _deliberate_ lying and deception?" Her eyes rose to him again as he gently watched her, wanting nothing more than to remember every detail about her. "How _could_ I…care?"

He shook his head hopefully. His lips held each other tightly, denying the tears on his face. "I want you gone." A chocked sob broke her sentence. "I…can't _do_ this." She was practically begging for his absence for she didn't know how much longer she could stand her ground.

The second before his sad eyes could convince her to let him stay, she quickly made her way out of the room, stepping clumsily over boxes and weights that stood in her way.

He turned away, unable to watch her walk away from him. His head jolted as his tight lips held back a hiccupped sob. His hands clutched the air madly before he harshly wiped his face with every dry spot of his hands and fought his way out of the damp storage room.

He sniffled as he entered the kitchen, finding Gabriella nowhere in sight. He averted his face to the floor, gaining strength to hold back his tears. He swiftly swept through the kitchen, determined to find the coat he'd left on the floor of the foyer. He stopped as he passed the couch to see an empty floor, and jolted his head to the coat rack on the wall where his coat hung ominously. His eyes dropped solemnly to the floor, trailing sideways to peer down the hallway leading to their bedroom, hoping for a glimpse of the only girl he'd ever loved.

He hopelessly turned his head back to the coat, almost instantly closing his eyes and tilting his head back, as if it would pour his tears back inside. Momentarily, he contemplated the compulsive move his gir-Gabriella had made, wondering if she _meant_ to show him that she still cared. Left without an answer, he heard the creak of the floor behind him.

He softly opened his eyes and looked gently upon the painted corner in front of him. A new strength rose; a hope he had begun to lose appeared. He turned, hearing the faint start of the kitchen faucet before he strolled to the archway of the kitchen.

His lips twitched at the sight of her; he wanted nothing but to smile. She stood with her back to him; her right leg crossed lazily behind her left as she lent against the kitchen sink. Gabriella watched the warm water blankly as it filled the plugged sink.

"You know I'll be back, Gabriella." Her body drooped as she exhaled; her head fell minutely to the side allowing her the slightest glance at his figure under the archway. Her eyes took to the counter she lent on, waiting for his next move.

"You know I can't leave you like this." Desperation shone through his voice, wishing for her acknowledgement of his logic. His neck inclined slightly as he looked for a response. Tired of being ignored, he continued, "I can't let it end like this!" His head shook as he refused his fate.

After a solid silence, she sucked her cheeks in tightly before she deeply inhaled the tense air to allow her reply. Turning to lean her elbows behind her on the counter, she spoke, "Its already over, Troy." Her voice was defeated, as if it were out of her control.

Outraged at her hopelessness, Troy immediately fought for what she had given up on. "Well, I'll start it again!" His loud voice broke a thread connecting the two. The tiniest bit of tension fled.

Her eyes returned to his in shock. A new layer of piercing tears broke free as she hoped to look upon him for the last time. "Please."

Troy looked at her confused, silently begging her to give into him. He saw the fear in her eyes, not of him, but of her own future without him. For the first time, he realized just what he had done to her. "I-"

"Please…" Her lips were flat and tight, holding back the chocking sobs as her face held only sorrow. She shivered as she held her arms across her chest allowing her blood to stain her shirt as she indulged the feeling of isolation that plagued her. She scurried from the room.

He watched her leave once more, loathing himself for not finding a remedy to the situation. His own future fled from his sight and he had no one to blame but himself.

Uncertainty haunted him and held his emotions captive. He blankly turned, tears streaming unknowingly. Past the couch that held too many memories for him to acknowledge now, he strolled, grasped his coat from the hook and cloaked himself with the expensive fabric. At the door, he swept up his duffel bag onto his shoulder; with one more absent-minded look over his shoulder, he quickly jolted out the door to the dark early morning hallway, leaving his gloves behind.

It was then that he cried, leaning against the wooden door separating him from his past. He sank to his knees, resting his forehead on the door, but his jolting sobs knocked his head on the door in uneven increments. His loud choking moans reverberated through the hallway, but he didn't notice the light shine from under his neighbor's door, or the faint click of his neighbor's lock, or the light movement of the air as his door opened.

As the large man cleared his throat though, Troy turned weakly, still supporting himself on the door. As the man glared down at him, angry from his lack of sleep, Troy looked on through blurry eyes. "I'm sorry," his strong apology shocked both him and his neighbor as he took the blame without question.

With wide eyes, the rotund neighbor watched on as Troy turned back to his own door. He clutched the indented designs in the wood with his bare hands. "I'm sorry, Gabriella." He apologized for what he'd done as he cried, weakened to a point of utter desolation. He sobbed with his eyes tightly shut, "I am _so_ sorry."

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